"Cicely, what did you say to those people, that they stared at us so
when they passed?"
"Oh, they asked me if you were the man who went round with the
panorama--to explain it, you know. So I told them that you were the
celebrated Jessamine family--you and Miss Leontine; and that you were
going to give a concert in Gary Hundred to-night; I advised them to go."
"Bless my soul!--the celebrated Jessamine family? What possessed you?"
"Well, they saw the wagon, and they thought it looked like a panorama.
They seemed to want something, so I told them that."
Eve broke into a laugh.
But the judge put on his spectacles, and walked round the wagon with
indignant step. "It is an infernal color," he declared, angrily.
"Our good Dickson had that paint on hand--he told me about it,"
explained Miss Leontine. "It was left over"--here she paused. "I don't
know what you will think, but I believe it really was left over after a
circus--or was it a menagerie? At any rate, the last thing that was
exhibited here before the war."
The vehicle in question was a long-bodied, two seated wagon, with a
square box behind, which opened at the back like the box of a carrier's
cart; its hue was the liveliest pea green.
"Dickson had no business to give it to us; it was a damned
impertinence!" said the judge, with a snort.
"Don't spoil your voice, when you've got to sing to-night, grandpa,"
remarked Cicely. "And you will have to lead out Miss Leontine--who will
sing 'Waiting.'"
The judge glanced at Miss Leontine. He could not repress a grin.
But tall Miss Leontine remained amiable, she had never heard of
"Waiting." In any case she seldom penetrated jokes; they seemed to her
insufficiently explained; often, indeed, abstruse. She was fifty-two,
and very maidenly; her bearing, her voice, her expression, were all
timidly virginal, as were also the tints of her attire, pale blues and
lavenders, and faint green. Her face bore a strong resemblance to the
face of a camel; give a camel a pink-and-white complexion, blue eyes,
and light-brown hair coming down in flat bands on each side of its long
face, and you have Miss Leontine. She was extraordinarily tall--she
attained a stature of nearly six feet. Her step, as if conscious of
this, was apologetic; her long narrow back leaned forward as though she
were trying to reduce her height in front as she came towards one. She
wore no crinoline; her head was decked with a large gypsy hat, from
which floated a blue tissue veil.
The little party of four--Eve, Cicely, the judge, and Miss
Leontine--with Master Jack, had driven from Gary Hundred to Bellington;
their hostess, Cousin Sarah Cray, had an old horse, and this wagon had
been borrowed from Dickson, the village grainer (who had so mistakenly
saved the circus paint); it would be a pleasant excursion in itself, and
it would be good for Jack--which last was the principal point with them
all.
For the much longer excursion from Abercrombie Island to this inland
South Carolina village had been taken on Jack's account; the attack of
croup had left him with a harassing cough, a baby's little cough, which
is so distressing to the ears of those who love him. Eve had walked
about, day and night, carrying him in her arms, his languid head on her
shoulder; she could not bear to see how large his eyes looked in his
little white face; she did not sleep; she could scarcely speak.
"We might go to Cousin Sarah Cray's for a while, away from the coast,"
Cicely suggested. She was always present when Eve walked restlessly to
and fro; but she did not interfere, she let Eve have the child.
Eve had no idea who or where was Cousin Sarah Cray, but she agreed to
anything that would take Jack away from the coast. It was very cold now
at Romney; the Sound was dark and rough all the time, the sea boomed,
the winds were bitter. They had therefore journeyed inland, Jack and
Eve, Cicely and her grandfather, leaving Miss Sabrina to guard the
island-home alone.
When they reached Gary Hundred and the softer air, Jack began to revive;
Eve too revived, she came back to daily life again. One of the first
things she said was: "I ought not to be staying here, Cicely; you must
let me go to the hotel; your cousin is not my cousin."
"She's Jack's."
"Do you mean by that that Jack must stay, and if he does, I shall? But
it isn't decent; here we have all descended upon her at a moment's
notice, and filled up her house, and tramped to and fro. She doesn't
appear to be rich."
"We are all as poor as crows, but we always go and stay with each other
just the same. As for Cousin Sarah Cray, she loves it. Of course we take
her as we find her."
"We do indeed!" was Eve's thought. "It is all very well for you," she
went on, aloud. "But I am a stranger."
"Cousin Sarah Cray doesn't think so; she thinks you very near--a sister
of her cousin."
"If you count in that way, what families you must have! But why
shouldn't we all go to the hotel, and take her with us? There's an
idea."
"For one reason, there's no hotel to go to," responded Cicely, laughing.
They continued, therefore, to stay with Cousin Sarah Cray; they had been
there ten days, and Jack was so much better that Eve gladly accepted her
obligations, for the present. She accepted, too, the makeshifts of the
rambling housekeeping. But if the housekeeping was of a wandering order,
the welcome did not wander--it remained fixed; there was something
beautiful in the boundless affection and hospitality of poverty-stricken
Cousin Sarah Cray.
Bellington was a ruin. In the old days it had been the custom of the
people of Gary Hundred, and the neighboring plantations, to drive
thither now and then to spend an afternoon; the terraces and fish-ponds
were still to be seen, together with the remains of the Dutch
flower-garden, and the great underground kitchens of the house, which
had been built of bricks imported from Holland a hundred and twenty
years before. In the corner of one of the fields bordering the river
were the earthworks of a Revolutionary fort; in a jungle a quarter of a
mile distant there was a deserted church, with high pews, mouldering
funeral hatchments, and even the insignia of George the Third in faded
gilt over the organ-loft. Bellington House had been destroyed by fire,
accidentally, in 1790. Now, when there were in the same neighborhood
other houses which had been destroyed by fire, not accidentally, there
was less interest in the older ruin. But it still served as an excuse
for a drive, and drives were excellent for the young autocrat of the
party, to whom all, including Miss Leontine, were shamelessly devoted.
The judge did his duty as guide; he had visited Bellington more times
than he could count, but he again led the way (with appropriate
discourse) from the fish-ponds to the fort, and from the fort to the
church, Miss Leontine, in her floating veil, ambling beside him.
When the sun began to decline they returned to their pea-green wagon.
The judge walked round it afresh. Then he turned away, put his head over
a bush, and muttered on the other side of it.
"What is he saying?" Eve asked.
"I am afraid 'cuss words,' as the darkies call them," answered Cicely,
composedly. "He is without doubt a very desperate old man."
Miss Leontine looked distressed, she made a pretext of gathering some
leaves from a bush at a little distance; as she walked away, her skirt
caught itself behind at each step upon the tops of her prunella boots,
which were of the pattern called "Congress," with their white straps
visible.
"She is miserable because I called him that," said Cicely; "she thinks
him perfect. Grandpa, I have just called you a desperate old man."
But the judge had resumed his grand manner; he assisted the ladies in
climbing to their high seats, and then, mounting to his own place, he
guided the horse down the uneven avenue and into the broad road again.
The cotton plantations of this neighborhood had suffered almost as much
as the rice fields of Romney: they had been flooded so often that much
of the land was now worthless, disintegrated and overgrown with
lespedeza. They crossed the river (which had done the damage) on--or
rather in--a long shaking wooden bridge, covered and nearly dark, and
guarding in its dusky recesses a strong odor of the stable. Beyond it
the judge had an inspiration: he would go across the fields by one of
the old cotton-tracks, thus shortening the distance by more than two
miles.
"Because you're ashamed of
'Our pea-green wagon, our wagon of green,
Lillibulero, bullen-a-la,'"
chanted Cicely on the back seat.
"Cecilia!" said the judge, with dignity.
Eve sat beside him; courteously he entertained her. "Have you ever
reflected, Miss Bruce, upon the very uninteresting condition of the
world at present? Everything is known. Where can a gentleman travel now,
with the element of the unexpected as a companion? There are positively
no lands left unvulgarized save the neighborhood of the Poles."
"Central Africa," Eve suggested.
"Africa? I think I said for gentlemen."
"You turbulent old despot, curb yourself," said Cicely, _sotto voce_.
"In the old days, Miss Bruce," the judge went on, "we had Arabia, we had
Thibet, we had Cham-Tartary; we could arrive on camels at Erzerum. Hey!
what are you about there, boy? Turn out!"
"Turn out yourself."
The track had passed down into a winding hollow between sloping banks
about six feet high; on the other side of a curve they had come suddenly
upon an empty hay-cart which was approaching from the opposite
direction, drawn by two mules; the driver, an athletic young negro with
an insolent face, was walking beside his team. His broad cart filled
every inch of the track; it was impossible to pass it without climbing
the bank. The judge, with his heavy wagon and one horse, could not do
this; but it would have been easy for the mules to take their light cart
up the slope, and thus leave room for the wagon.
The old planter could not believe that he had heard aright. "Turn out,
boy!" he repeated, with the imperious manner which only a lifetime of
absolute authority can give.
The negro brought his mules up until their noses touched the nose of the
horse; then, putting his hands in his pockets, he planted himself, and
called out, "W'at yer gwine ter do 'bout it?"
In an instant the judge was on his feet, whip in hand. But Cicely
touched him. "You are not going to fight with him, grandpa?" she said,
in a low tone. "For he will fight; he isn't in the least afraid of you."
The judge had now reached the ground. In his rage he was white, with his
eyes blazing. Eve, greatly alarmed, clasped little Jack closer.
Cicely jumped lightly down. "Grandpa," she said, under her breath, "he
is a great deal stronger than you are, and after he has struck you down
we shall be here alone with him--think of that. We will all get out, and
then you can lead the horse up the bank, and go by him. Dear grandpa, it
is the only way; this isn't the island, this is South Carolina."
Eve, seeing the speechless passion of the old man, had not believed that
Cicely would prevail; she had closed her eyes with a shuddering,
horrible vision of the forward rush, the wrested whip, and the
silver-haired head in the dust. But, with a mighty effort, trembling
like a leaf with his repressed rage, the judge put up his hand to help
her in her descent. She accepted his aid hurriedly, giving Jack to
Cicely; Miss Leontine had climbed down alone, the tears dropping on her
cheeks behind her veil. The judge then led the horse up the bank and
past the wagon, the negro keeping his position beside his mules; the
ladies followed the wagon, and mounted to their places again when it had
reached the track, Cicely taking the seat by the side of her
grandfather. Then they drove off, followed by the negro's jeering
laughter.
The old planter remained perfectly silent. Eve believed that, after he
had deposited them safely at home, he would go back in search of that
negro without fail. She and Cicely tried to keep up a conversation; Miss
Leontine joined them whenever she was able, but the tears constantly
succeeded each other on her long face, and she was as constantly putting
her handkerchief to her eyes in order to repress them, the gesture much
involved with her blue veil. On the borders of the village they passed
the little railway station. By the side of the station-house there was a
new shop, which had a broad show-window filled with wooden wash-tubs.
"This is the shop of Thomas Scotts, the tar-and-turpentine man who is in
love with Matilda Debbs," said Cicely. "How is that coming on now, Miss
Leontine?"